Bitter chains,
Forged by others’ sins,
Bind me and lead me
Where I’ve no wish to go.
(Starla Way Jamieson, March 1988)
This ridiculously warm January weather makes me think that the muses are conspiring with Mother Nature to trigger springtime memories that my mind could never access through thought alone – smells, bird sounds, greening grass between islands of snow.
Spring in Ontario smells different than it does in Vancouver. It must, why else would my memory senses skip so readily over all the springs I’ve since spent on the west coast to return to the spring that we were at Sophie’s, and to the warmth of the days I spent on her driveway, drawing hopscotch tracks, riding my bike, playing with new friends.
By springtime that year I had finally made some friends. There were three of us from Centennial Park: Julia had just arrived to our class from Calgary after the March break, Kelly had been working with me in the library since Christmas, and me. We created our own clique giving us a sense of belonging that was a new experience for each of us. We seldom spoke of it, not wanting to expose our loneliness, not even to each other.
In the face of these wonderful growing up experiences that included more independence, and in these new friendships, sometimes I would feel as if I was abandoning you. For most of our lives you and I were so linked together and now I was being called to my own writing place, my own friends, my own experiences away from you and your world. Part of me was afraid to let go of you – like letting go of the string on a helium balloon, even just for a second, I was afraid that if I ever needed to be there to care for you I wouldn’t be able catch the string again.
The warm weather of that spring had Sophie planning for the summer holidays, gathering information on day camps that I could attend. The idea of playing sports in the heat of the day didn’t appeal to me, and the “Science & Nature” camps sounded a bit too outdoorsy for my taste. Then Sophie found a camp that offered drama and art and I was in heaven at the thought of it. She tried to harness me in for the rest of the school year by telling me that we still had to confirm the summer details with Bill, but I lived on the dream of wonderful days of make up, costumes, clay and paint. Julia and Kelly started coaxing their parents to let us go to the camp together.
Sometimes I think that I’m still looking forward to going to that camp, I’m always waiting for what might be the perfect time of my life.
It was a sunny Saturday afternoon in mid June. It felt so much like summer: fresh summer of green grass and exploding flowerbeds. I was sitting on the floor of our room leaning against your bed, writing in my notebook while you slept. I loved to be with you while you napped; it gave me an excuse to be absolutely quiet. I like being quiet. Through the open window I heard a car pull up on the street and some faint voices coming through the open window as the car doors slammed. I remember that I was irritated at being drawn away from my thoughts by these outside noises.
Seconds later there was a banging at the front door. It was an odd sound. I wondered at first what it meant – it didn’t sound like someone knocking at the door, it was more like the thud of a flat hand slapping on wood: three times…four, no, five times. Why wouldn’t they use the doorbell? I realized that Sophie was in the back garden and couldn’t hear the noise. I put my notebook down and went into the hall making sure to close the bedroom door behind me. I went down the stairs to the landing and opened the front door, remembering just an instant too late, all the warnings about opening doors to strangers.
Mom and Ariel were standing on the front porch with their backs to me, looking out at the street and talking to each other. So many of the details of the next few moments have stayed with me through the years – like a brilliant flash of light on film, the shock of seeing them must have permanently etched those details into my brain. I remember mom’s long brown hair was loose, over her shoulders with a bandana worn like a headband behind her ears; I saw that her denim shirt had a small tear in the sleeve and that the long flowing skirt that she wore was the one I liked, the one that she got at the Courtney Fair the year before you were born; I saw that the peonies behind her were hanging down under the weight of their early blooms and that the pansy border was looking a bit dull in the heat of the harsh afternoon sun; I saw that Ariel had her hair cut to a short cap, fitting close to her head and that her work boots and jeans looked heavy on such a warm day.
Boots came barking from the kitchen, sensing the strangers I guess. His noise broke the frozen moment and made mom turn to see me at the open door. Her arms shot out and she embraced me with all the joy and energy that this long anticipated reunion had built up in her.
I think back and wonder if things would have turned out as they did, if she had greeted me in a different manner. If she had been shy about seeing us again, or brisk and efficient in her old manner, would I have gone through the next few hours in the same way? I don’t know. I think perhaps not, but as it was, the commitment of that hug and her absolute delight at seeing me unlatched a floodgate of longing in me that I had no way of holding back.
I was in shock and couldn’t begin to process what she was saying. She spoke into my hair as she held me to her. She was so small: her shoulders, pointy and frail through the denim and her fingers were sticklike on my face.
“Oh my Sweetie,” she said. I held onto the words and repeated them to myself, like a sacred mantra secretly given to a new disciple. – “Oh, my Sweetie. Oh, my Sweetie.” Then I heard her, above the noise of Boots’s barking, whisper in hurried and seductive tones how all would be well now, how she was here and she was better and that she would take care of us. And like a lonely teenager, starved for the words: “I love you” and willing to accept them at face value from the first boy who says them, I melted into her arms.
I heard the back door open as Sophie came in to see why Boots was barking. We could hear her calling out, telling Boots to be quiet as she crossed through the kitchen. When she saw mom she stopped dead, the trowel in her hand suspended in mid motion with bits of earth still caked to the gardening gloves that she wore.
“Sophie, Sophie,” I cried, “Mom’s here. It’s mom. Isn’t that great?” I ran up the stairs to where she had stopped, wanting to share my excitement with her. Sophie stood still for such a long time, removing her gloves one finger at a time, putting them behind her on the table in the kitchen, all the while her eyes were taking mom in. Then deliberately, as if measuring each step for some meaning, Sophie went down the few stairs to the landing where mom and Ariel were still standing.
“Oh Sarah,” Sophie said, emotion pulsing tentatively through her words. “You’re looking so much better.” Each of the sisters rested hands on shoulders, cheeks bobbing forward to touch, in the manner of the uncommitted. Ariel hovered, like a nervous bodyguard.
Sophie ushered them into the living room. There was an awkward silence for some time until Sophie said as brightly as she could: “Sarah, how long have you been on the road? Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?”
Ignoring Sophie’s questions, mom took a deep breath and straightened her spine as she delivered the words that she’d obviously been rehearsing for so long: “Sophie, I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for the kids, but I really am well now, and I’ve come to bring them with me.”
My heart… My breath…A physical reaction, as natural and uncontrollable as the startle reflex, grew from somewhere deep inside me in a place where I longed to be loved and cherished by a mother.
I barely noticed the change in Sophie’s demeanor as I watched her face set itself into a mask of solid composure. She probably knew mom well enough to realize that pleading and screaming would have made the situation impossible. She used her armor of calm to mask her shock and guide what would happen next.
“Sarah, I’m so glad to have you,” Sophie started. “It will be so good for the girls to get to know you again. And when school is out in a few weeks…”
Ariel cut her off, speaking for the first time: “No, Sophie, you don’t understand. We’ve come to get the girls today. We have to leave as soon as possible.”
Sophie forced a laugh to cover the panic that was beginning to well in her eyes. “But surely not today, Sarah.” She said, ignoring Ariel. “You’ve had such a long trip. You must be exhausted. Stay for a few weeks, until Star is finished at school and maybe we could all have a week together at a cottage somewhere…”
This time it was mom who cut her off. Her voice, much smaller than I remembered it, was still as clear as I had ever heard it: “No Sophie. We have people waiting for us. We have to go today. We have to pack their things and go today.”
As the reality of mom’s resolve sunk in, Sophie began to shake, just a little, struggling to keep some control. “But Sarah, you don’t understand. Starla has friends; she’s made a life here. And then Claire…”
As your name was mentioned, it set off a trigger in mom, as if she just remembered you. She jumped up and began looking around anxiously saying: “Claire, of course, where’s my Claire?” She walked into the kitchen, agitated, distracted, as if she was looking for a pair of sunglasses, or the car keys that had been misplaced. She went towards the hallway of the bedrooms, calling your name. Sophie tried to say that you were having your nap but mom never heard her as she opened the door to the bedroom and saw you on your bed: peaceful, beautiful, perfect.
We could hear you begin to stir as mom went to you, cooing in a stage whisper: “Oh, Claire, my Claire de Lune. It’s mommy, Claire. Are you sleeping? I love you. Mommy’s here, Claire.” As I look back on it now, I don’t think mom remembered how different you were from when you were a baby, when she used to sit in the rocking chair feeding you and telling me that we were her celestial bonds: Starla Way and Claire de Lune. She seemed to expect you to still be her laughing baby.
Sophie and I didn’t know what to expect; we were so accustomed to dealing with your episodes of screaming, we always held our breath in readiness mode whenever you were faced with a new situation. I was watching from the door as you stretched into consciousness and turned your head towards mom. You lay on your side holding the blanket that Molly had given you, gathering the satin part of the edging between your little fingers, focusing on the eyelet lace of the bedspread.
“Oh, my beautiful Claire, how lovely you are. Mommy’s here, sweetheart,” she went on as she struggled to lift you from the bed, removing the blanket and sitting you on her lap. You surprised us all: you didn’t seem to react to the awkwardness of her movements as she struggled to lift your dead weight – you just let go, offering nothing by way of resistance, nor acceptance. I was hoping that this non-response was a good sign: I thought that perhaps you recognized mom and that her presence gave you peace. When I look at it now, I think that it was probably more a form of giving in, of having no defense and using the only means of escape you had. It reminded me of Bill’s passive-resistant friends, the protectors of the old growth forest who become limp and completely non-reactive when the law moves in.
Mom sat on the side of the bed, rocking you. Sophie tried to talk to her, to explain how you needed special care, how you couldn’t hear well. None of it mattered. Mom’s tone was firm when she said: “Sophie, please. This is my baby, Claire. Don’t you think I know my own child? Don’t you think I can take care of her?”
It wasn’t until we heard the drawer of the dresser being drawn that we became aware of Ariel’s presence in the room. As she began lifting my clothes and packing them into a large zippered nylon bag, the kind that the older boys at school used for their hockey equipment, that Sophie sprang across the room, grabbing at the fistful of socks and underwear that Ariel was stuffing into a corner of the bag.
“What are you doing? You can’t, you can’t do that.” Sophie repeated until Ariel let go of the clothing and closed her hand around Sophie’s wrist.
“Yes, we can Sophie,” said Ariel. “We can do this. Sarah is their mother and you have no legal right to keep them from their mother. Please, let’s not make a scene in front of the girls. They’ll be fine.”
Sophie looked from Ariel to mom who was still rocking you. You both seemed oblivious to what was happening. “What do you mean? Look at her!” Sophie screamed pointing to mom. “Look at her. These girls will not be fine; they need special care. Sarah can’t even take care of herself. I can’t let you take them.” Sophie left the room and headed for the phone in the kitchen. I followed into the hallway and watched her bring the receiver to her ear and begin dialing.
Mom stood up and left you on the bed. Brushing past me she followed Sophie into the kitchen, and in the calmest, sanest voice that any mother would use with a distraught child she said: “Sophie, who can you call? The police? What will the police do to help you? Don’t you see that I’m fine? You had the girls while I was recovering from an illness, and now I’m here to bring them home. What could be simpler? What could the police ever do to help you?” Mom raised her hand to touch Sophie’s cheek. “They’ll be fine, Sophie. I’ll take care of them. I have friends who will help me. We’ll all be fine.” She finished, reciting the words as if they had been spoken before, lines that were rehearsed.
As mom cooed, Sophie slowly let the receiver drop to her chest then replaced it on the cradle. Her mask of strength gave way, layer by layer, to one of defeat – not yet terror, not yet grief; those would come later.
When I saw Sophie let go, I let go too. I sat on the floor in the hall, watching as she lowered herself onto one of the kitchen chairs, her hands fidgeting with the napkins in the basket before her. I don’t think she knew that I was watching her, maybe she did. Recognizing now that we would be leaving, I used this time to fix every detail of her face, her arms, her body into my mind.
The wonderful life that we’d built with Sophie began to break up like images of clouds on rippled water as I realized that there was no way out. The idea of screaming, of throwing a tantrum didn’t even cross my mind. I wonder if they would have reconsidered their plans with the prospect of a three thousand mile trip in the company of a screaming eleven year old. I did think of hiding but I was truly afraid that they would leave without me, taking you with them anyway. I couldn’t take that risk.
Ariel and mom came from the bedroom carrying you and the two nylon bags with everything of our life at Sophie’s that they could hold. In a voice that didn’t mean what it was saying, mom asked Sophie to send on anything that they may have left behind. “Send it COD if you want. It’s okay, I’ll pay for it.” Sophie glared.
They made their way down the steps to the landing just inside the front door, and mom looked back up to where Sophie and I were still sitting: “We really do have to go now.”
Sophie’s face inched its gaze from the floor at her feet, along the kitchen tile, the hallway carpet, sweeping the banister, up to mom’s face. The composed fury that lay in Sophie’s eyes was like nothing I’d ever seen in her before. She stood with great care, deliberately placing her palms on the table in front of her, then lifted herself with such grace to her fullest height; she had the bearing of a queen facing great tragedy – slavery, a forced marriage, the guillotine. I remember taking courage from her posture, believing that dignity and courage were the bonds that would keep us connected despite the fear that was welling inside me now.
Sophie walked down the stairs to the front landing, silently taking our jackets from the closet so that we could bring them with us. She turned and beckoned me to her with her fingers. I unfolded myself from the corner under the hall table where I had been sitting, choosing to go to her, pretending I had a choice. She handed me my jacket, then awkwardly tried to put yours on over your dangling arms as mom held you so tightly, clinging to her advantage – in case Sophie tried and pry you from her arms.
I’ve never felt anger towards Sophie that she didn’t stand up to mom and try to stop her from taking us away. Many years later when I was at university, I was taking a course in ancient literature and I came across the Bible story of two women fighting over a child, each claiming to be the mother. King Solomon’s answer was to cut the child in half that each mother would have a portion. At that judgment, the real mother, the one who truly loved the child, relinquished her hold and let the child go. I think that I always understood that Sophie was the true loving parent who had to let us go. I know that she has had more than her share of demons to dance with over what happened that day.
We went outside and Sophie led the way to the car. I followed behind in her footsteps as she made her way, so tall and straight and strong. I was absorbing her strength as she led me, telling me in her silent way not to be afraid but to be alert. Without that memory of her grace and devotion to us, I wouldn’t have made it through certain times in my life. I still see her back as she walked ahead of me, her left hand stretched out behind her, offering itself wordlessly to me, inviting me to walk into the next scene of my life while holding onto her hand.
When we got to the car Sophie realized that there was no car seat for you. Most children your age just used a booster seat but you were so tiny and unsteady that it was much safer and more practical for you to have a proper car seat. Sophie went to her car and got the tools to unfasten the tether strap bolt in the back and the seat belt that kept it in place. She brought the seat over to Ariel’s car and put it in the back seat. She then saw that there was no way of attaching the tether strap of the seat securely in this old car.
“Sarah, the seat isn’t going to be secure. There’s no bolt, she can’t go across the country in it like this…” Now she sounded panicked, like a helpless child herself, focusing on the safety seat as if its security could protect you from all harm.
Ariel said not to worry, that they would stop as soon as they were outside the city traffic to have it seen to. We all knew it would never happen. Mom turned you around so that Sophie could kiss you goodbye, then mom bent low into the car to put you in the seat, fidgeting with the unfamiliar buckles.
I turned to hug Sophie and held on to her for a long time until mom backed out of the rear door and opened the front one, telling us that she was ready. Neither Sophie nor I spoke during that embrace, I guess we couldn’t think of any words worthy of the moment.
I got in next to your seat and quickly rolled down the window to say a final goodbye. Ariel started the engine, which sounded rough and provided Sophie with just one more worry. As we pulled away from the curb Sophie called out, forcing an encouraging smile: “I love you, Star. I’ll be sure to call Bill and let him know that you’re coming…”
At that, mom shot around in her seat and glared at Sophie for a long moment as Ariel gunned the motor and took off too quickly out of sight.
I haven’t thought of that day in many years.
Think of me now and then, Claire.
Love,
Starla
Copyright 2003
Forged by others’ sins,
Bind me and lead me
Where I’ve no wish to go.
(Starla Way Jamieson, March 1988)
This ridiculously warm January weather makes me think that the muses are conspiring with Mother Nature to trigger springtime memories that my mind could never access through thought alone – smells, bird sounds, greening grass between islands of snow.
Spring in Ontario smells different than it does in Vancouver. It must, why else would my memory senses skip so readily over all the springs I’ve since spent on the west coast to return to the spring that we were at Sophie’s, and to the warmth of the days I spent on her driveway, drawing hopscotch tracks, riding my bike, playing with new friends.
By springtime that year I had finally made some friends. There were three of us from Centennial Park: Julia had just arrived to our class from Calgary after the March break, Kelly had been working with me in the library since Christmas, and me. We created our own clique giving us a sense of belonging that was a new experience for each of us. We seldom spoke of it, not wanting to expose our loneliness, not even to each other.
In the face of these wonderful growing up experiences that included more independence, and in these new friendships, sometimes I would feel as if I was abandoning you. For most of our lives you and I were so linked together and now I was being called to my own writing place, my own friends, my own experiences away from you and your world. Part of me was afraid to let go of you – like letting go of the string on a helium balloon, even just for a second, I was afraid that if I ever needed to be there to care for you I wouldn’t be able catch the string again.
The warm weather of that spring had Sophie planning for the summer holidays, gathering information on day camps that I could attend. The idea of playing sports in the heat of the day didn’t appeal to me, and the “Science & Nature” camps sounded a bit too outdoorsy for my taste. Then Sophie found a camp that offered drama and art and I was in heaven at the thought of it. She tried to harness me in for the rest of the school year by telling me that we still had to confirm the summer details with Bill, but I lived on the dream of wonderful days of make up, costumes, clay and paint. Julia and Kelly started coaxing their parents to let us go to the camp together.
Sometimes I think that I’m still looking forward to going to that camp, I’m always waiting for what might be the perfect time of my life.
It was a sunny Saturday afternoon in mid June. It felt so much like summer: fresh summer of green grass and exploding flowerbeds. I was sitting on the floor of our room leaning against your bed, writing in my notebook while you slept. I loved to be with you while you napped; it gave me an excuse to be absolutely quiet. I like being quiet. Through the open window I heard a car pull up on the street and some faint voices coming through the open window as the car doors slammed. I remember that I was irritated at being drawn away from my thoughts by these outside noises.
Seconds later there was a banging at the front door. It was an odd sound. I wondered at first what it meant – it didn’t sound like someone knocking at the door, it was more like the thud of a flat hand slapping on wood: three times…four, no, five times. Why wouldn’t they use the doorbell? I realized that Sophie was in the back garden and couldn’t hear the noise. I put my notebook down and went into the hall making sure to close the bedroom door behind me. I went down the stairs to the landing and opened the front door, remembering just an instant too late, all the warnings about opening doors to strangers.
Mom and Ariel were standing on the front porch with their backs to me, looking out at the street and talking to each other. So many of the details of the next few moments have stayed with me through the years – like a brilliant flash of light on film, the shock of seeing them must have permanently etched those details into my brain. I remember mom’s long brown hair was loose, over her shoulders with a bandana worn like a headband behind her ears; I saw that her denim shirt had a small tear in the sleeve and that the long flowing skirt that she wore was the one I liked, the one that she got at the Courtney Fair the year before you were born; I saw that the peonies behind her were hanging down under the weight of their early blooms and that the pansy border was looking a bit dull in the heat of the harsh afternoon sun; I saw that Ariel had her hair cut to a short cap, fitting close to her head and that her work boots and jeans looked heavy on such a warm day.
Boots came barking from the kitchen, sensing the strangers I guess. His noise broke the frozen moment and made mom turn to see me at the open door. Her arms shot out and she embraced me with all the joy and energy that this long anticipated reunion had built up in her.
I think back and wonder if things would have turned out as they did, if she had greeted me in a different manner. If she had been shy about seeing us again, or brisk and efficient in her old manner, would I have gone through the next few hours in the same way? I don’t know. I think perhaps not, but as it was, the commitment of that hug and her absolute delight at seeing me unlatched a floodgate of longing in me that I had no way of holding back.
I was in shock and couldn’t begin to process what she was saying. She spoke into my hair as she held me to her. She was so small: her shoulders, pointy and frail through the denim and her fingers were sticklike on my face.
“Oh my Sweetie,” she said. I held onto the words and repeated them to myself, like a sacred mantra secretly given to a new disciple. – “Oh, my Sweetie. Oh, my Sweetie.” Then I heard her, above the noise of Boots’s barking, whisper in hurried and seductive tones how all would be well now, how she was here and she was better and that she would take care of us. And like a lonely teenager, starved for the words: “I love you” and willing to accept them at face value from the first boy who says them, I melted into her arms.
I heard the back door open as Sophie came in to see why Boots was barking. We could hear her calling out, telling Boots to be quiet as she crossed through the kitchen. When she saw mom she stopped dead, the trowel in her hand suspended in mid motion with bits of earth still caked to the gardening gloves that she wore.
“Sophie, Sophie,” I cried, “Mom’s here. It’s mom. Isn’t that great?” I ran up the stairs to where she had stopped, wanting to share my excitement with her. Sophie stood still for such a long time, removing her gloves one finger at a time, putting them behind her on the table in the kitchen, all the while her eyes were taking mom in. Then deliberately, as if measuring each step for some meaning, Sophie went down the few stairs to the landing where mom and Ariel were still standing.
“Oh Sarah,” Sophie said, emotion pulsing tentatively through her words. “You’re looking so much better.” Each of the sisters rested hands on shoulders, cheeks bobbing forward to touch, in the manner of the uncommitted. Ariel hovered, like a nervous bodyguard.
Sophie ushered them into the living room. There was an awkward silence for some time until Sophie said as brightly as she could: “Sarah, how long have you been on the road? Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?”
Ignoring Sophie’s questions, mom took a deep breath and straightened her spine as she delivered the words that she’d obviously been rehearsing for so long: “Sophie, I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for the kids, but I really am well now, and I’ve come to bring them with me.”
My heart… My breath…A physical reaction, as natural and uncontrollable as the startle reflex, grew from somewhere deep inside me in a place where I longed to be loved and cherished by a mother.
I barely noticed the change in Sophie’s demeanor as I watched her face set itself into a mask of solid composure. She probably knew mom well enough to realize that pleading and screaming would have made the situation impossible. She used her armor of calm to mask her shock and guide what would happen next.
“Sarah, I’m so glad to have you,” Sophie started. “It will be so good for the girls to get to know you again. And when school is out in a few weeks…”
Ariel cut her off, speaking for the first time: “No, Sophie, you don’t understand. We’ve come to get the girls today. We have to leave as soon as possible.”
Sophie forced a laugh to cover the panic that was beginning to well in her eyes. “But surely not today, Sarah.” She said, ignoring Ariel. “You’ve had such a long trip. You must be exhausted. Stay for a few weeks, until Star is finished at school and maybe we could all have a week together at a cottage somewhere…”
This time it was mom who cut her off. Her voice, much smaller than I remembered it, was still as clear as I had ever heard it: “No Sophie. We have people waiting for us. We have to go today. We have to pack their things and go today.”
As the reality of mom’s resolve sunk in, Sophie began to shake, just a little, struggling to keep some control. “But Sarah, you don’t understand. Starla has friends; she’s made a life here. And then Claire…”
As your name was mentioned, it set off a trigger in mom, as if she just remembered you. She jumped up and began looking around anxiously saying: “Claire, of course, where’s my Claire?” She walked into the kitchen, agitated, distracted, as if she was looking for a pair of sunglasses, or the car keys that had been misplaced. She went towards the hallway of the bedrooms, calling your name. Sophie tried to say that you were having your nap but mom never heard her as she opened the door to the bedroom and saw you on your bed: peaceful, beautiful, perfect.
We could hear you begin to stir as mom went to you, cooing in a stage whisper: “Oh, Claire, my Claire de Lune. It’s mommy, Claire. Are you sleeping? I love you. Mommy’s here, Claire.” As I look back on it now, I don’t think mom remembered how different you were from when you were a baby, when she used to sit in the rocking chair feeding you and telling me that we were her celestial bonds: Starla Way and Claire de Lune. She seemed to expect you to still be her laughing baby.
Sophie and I didn’t know what to expect; we were so accustomed to dealing with your episodes of screaming, we always held our breath in readiness mode whenever you were faced with a new situation. I was watching from the door as you stretched into consciousness and turned your head towards mom. You lay on your side holding the blanket that Molly had given you, gathering the satin part of the edging between your little fingers, focusing on the eyelet lace of the bedspread.
“Oh, my beautiful Claire, how lovely you are. Mommy’s here, sweetheart,” she went on as she struggled to lift you from the bed, removing the blanket and sitting you on her lap. You surprised us all: you didn’t seem to react to the awkwardness of her movements as she struggled to lift your dead weight – you just let go, offering nothing by way of resistance, nor acceptance. I was hoping that this non-response was a good sign: I thought that perhaps you recognized mom and that her presence gave you peace. When I look at it now, I think that it was probably more a form of giving in, of having no defense and using the only means of escape you had. It reminded me of Bill’s passive-resistant friends, the protectors of the old growth forest who become limp and completely non-reactive when the law moves in.
Mom sat on the side of the bed, rocking you. Sophie tried to talk to her, to explain how you needed special care, how you couldn’t hear well. None of it mattered. Mom’s tone was firm when she said: “Sophie, please. This is my baby, Claire. Don’t you think I know my own child? Don’t you think I can take care of her?”
It wasn’t until we heard the drawer of the dresser being drawn that we became aware of Ariel’s presence in the room. As she began lifting my clothes and packing them into a large zippered nylon bag, the kind that the older boys at school used for their hockey equipment, that Sophie sprang across the room, grabbing at the fistful of socks and underwear that Ariel was stuffing into a corner of the bag.
“What are you doing? You can’t, you can’t do that.” Sophie repeated until Ariel let go of the clothing and closed her hand around Sophie’s wrist.
“Yes, we can Sophie,” said Ariel. “We can do this. Sarah is their mother and you have no legal right to keep them from their mother. Please, let’s not make a scene in front of the girls. They’ll be fine.”
Sophie looked from Ariel to mom who was still rocking you. You both seemed oblivious to what was happening. “What do you mean? Look at her!” Sophie screamed pointing to mom. “Look at her. These girls will not be fine; they need special care. Sarah can’t even take care of herself. I can’t let you take them.” Sophie left the room and headed for the phone in the kitchen. I followed into the hallway and watched her bring the receiver to her ear and begin dialing.
Mom stood up and left you on the bed. Brushing past me she followed Sophie into the kitchen, and in the calmest, sanest voice that any mother would use with a distraught child she said: “Sophie, who can you call? The police? What will the police do to help you? Don’t you see that I’m fine? You had the girls while I was recovering from an illness, and now I’m here to bring them home. What could be simpler? What could the police ever do to help you?” Mom raised her hand to touch Sophie’s cheek. “They’ll be fine, Sophie. I’ll take care of them. I have friends who will help me. We’ll all be fine.” She finished, reciting the words as if they had been spoken before, lines that were rehearsed.
As mom cooed, Sophie slowly let the receiver drop to her chest then replaced it on the cradle. Her mask of strength gave way, layer by layer, to one of defeat – not yet terror, not yet grief; those would come later.
When I saw Sophie let go, I let go too. I sat on the floor in the hall, watching as she lowered herself onto one of the kitchen chairs, her hands fidgeting with the napkins in the basket before her. I don’t think she knew that I was watching her, maybe she did. Recognizing now that we would be leaving, I used this time to fix every detail of her face, her arms, her body into my mind.
The wonderful life that we’d built with Sophie began to break up like images of clouds on rippled water as I realized that there was no way out. The idea of screaming, of throwing a tantrum didn’t even cross my mind. I wonder if they would have reconsidered their plans with the prospect of a three thousand mile trip in the company of a screaming eleven year old. I did think of hiding but I was truly afraid that they would leave without me, taking you with them anyway. I couldn’t take that risk.
Ariel and mom came from the bedroom carrying you and the two nylon bags with everything of our life at Sophie’s that they could hold. In a voice that didn’t mean what it was saying, mom asked Sophie to send on anything that they may have left behind. “Send it COD if you want. It’s okay, I’ll pay for it.” Sophie glared.
They made their way down the steps to the landing just inside the front door, and mom looked back up to where Sophie and I were still sitting: “We really do have to go now.”
Sophie’s face inched its gaze from the floor at her feet, along the kitchen tile, the hallway carpet, sweeping the banister, up to mom’s face. The composed fury that lay in Sophie’s eyes was like nothing I’d ever seen in her before. She stood with great care, deliberately placing her palms on the table in front of her, then lifted herself with such grace to her fullest height; she had the bearing of a queen facing great tragedy – slavery, a forced marriage, the guillotine. I remember taking courage from her posture, believing that dignity and courage were the bonds that would keep us connected despite the fear that was welling inside me now.
Sophie walked down the stairs to the front landing, silently taking our jackets from the closet so that we could bring them with us. She turned and beckoned me to her with her fingers. I unfolded myself from the corner under the hall table where I had been sitting, choosing to go to her, pretending I had a choice. She handed me my jacket, then awkwardly tried to put yours on over your dangling arms as mom held you so tightly, clinging to her advantage – in case Sophie tried and pry you from her arms.
I’ve never felt anger towards Sophie that she didn’t stand up to mom and try to stop her from taking us away. Many years later when I was at university, I was taking a course in ancient literature and I came across the Bible story of two women fighting over a child, each claiming to be the mother. King Solomon’s answer was to cut the child in half that each mother would have a portion. At that judgment, the real mother, the one who truly loved the child, relinquished her hold and let the child go. I think that I always understood that Sophie was the true loving parent who had to let us go. I know that she has had more than her share of demons to dance with over what happened that day.
We went outside and Sophie led the way to the car. I followed behind in her footsteps as she made her way, so tall and straight and strong. I was absorbing her strength as she led me, telling me in her silent way not to be afraid but to be alert. Without that memory of her grace and devotion to us, I wouldn’t have made it through certain times in my life. I still see her back as she walked ahead of me, her left hand stretched out behind her, offering itself wordlessly to me, inviting me to walk into the next scene of my life while holding onto her hand.
When we got to the car Sophie realized that there was no car seat for you. Most children your age just used a booster seat but you were so tiny and unsteady that it was much safer and more practical for you to have a proper car seat. Sophie went to her car and got the tools to unfasten the tether strap bolt in the back and the seat belt that kept it in place. She brought the seat over to Ariel’s car and put it in the back seat. She then saw that there was no way of attaching the tether strap of the seat securely in this old car.
“Sarah, the seat isn’t going to be secure. There’s no bolt, she can’t go across the country in it like this…” Now she sounded panicked, like a helpless child herself, focusing on the safety seat as if its security could protect you from all harm.
Ariel said not to worry, that they would stop as soon as they were outside the city traffic to have it seen to. We all knew it would never happen. Mom turned you around so that Sophie could kiss you goodbye, then mom bent low into the car to put you in the seat, fidgeting with the unfamiliar buckles.
I turned to hug Sophie and held on to her for a long time until mom backed out of the rear door and opened the front one, telling us that she was ready. Neither Sophie nor I spoke during that embrace, I guess we couldn’t think of any words worthy of the moment.
I got in next to your seat and quickly rolled down the window to say a final goodbye. Ariel started the engine, which sounded rough and provided Sophie with just one more worry. As we pulled away from the curb Sophie called out, forcing an encouraging smile: “I love you, Star. I’ll be sure to call Bill and let him know that you’re coming…”
At that, mom shot around in her seat and glared at Sophie for a long moment as Ariel gunned the motor and took off too quickly out of sight.
I haven’t thought of that day in many years.
Think of me now and then, Claire.
Love,
Starla
Copyright 2003
